


CODEX ANATHEMA; an innovation of sins

by Bondmaiden



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Tragedy, Children Akashi and Kuroko, Dedicated to Tamireli, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Fox God Mayuzumi, Historical References, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bondmaiden/pseuds/Bondmaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>Tetsuya was, for lack of better words, spirited away. The Gods had taken a fancy towards him and took him for themselves.</i>
  </p>
</blockquote><br/>An innocent game of hide-and-seek on a festival night robs Tetsuya away from Seijuurou. Stolen by the Gods, they said, so Seijuurou would never find him. Now, Seijuurou's journey to reclaim Tetsuya from the Gods will begin with a single action: To kill them.
            </blockquote>





	1. #we will kill the heretic gods

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I should not be adding more projects to my list of fics /looks at the incomplete ones~~
> 
> This fic is dedicated to the lovely artist [Tamireli](http://www.tamireli.tumblr.com) because aaaah Tami darling drew a series of Mayuzumi pictures to help me cope with my hellish 5th semester of my university life and without her help (as well as the Mayuzumis she drew), I couldn't have survived it. ALSO TAMI DREW A REALLY GOOD PICTURE OF FOX MAYUZUMI THAT YOU CAN SEE RIGHT **[HERE](http://tamireli.tumblr.com/post/119256229056/hello-3-can-i-ask-for-10-in-a-different-form)** and the moment I saw it I was like _khajkdhaja i must write something for this kjasdhajk_...
> 
> So there you have it!

**SUMMER LIES HOT AND** **MOIST** in the air, coating everyone with a thin film of perspiration. That’s what yukatas are good for; cotton, airy goodness that absorbs the moisture and keeps them cool despite the midnight heat. Tetsuya’s yukata, a pale blue river with moss green obi, clings to his back as he races up the shrine stairs three steps at a time. Beads of sweat splash on the stone steps. His hair rebels against the hair gel his grandmother made him use; they are now ruffled, sticking up like a rooster’s crown.

Beyond the _torii_ gates, arched red and imposing, strings of lanterns hanging off trees billow lazily. Fuzzy murmurs and clacking _geta_ makes for a good background noise as greasy smoke permeates the air. Tetsuya pays no attention to them. Festivals often bring merrymaking to many, from the old to the young. Adults with their perfectly coiffed hair carrying their quilted pouches, sprinting children with caramel apples in their hands, everything blurs as Tetsuya races against the unseen.

He picks a good spot to hide himself, just underneath a mouldy offertory box a few ways off the merriment of the festival. An ageing shrine of a nameless god, _or was it named_?, Tetsuya doesn’t remember. Folding himself into two, Tetsuya drops on his knees, squeezes himself into the space between the stone floor and the wooden panels, and lies in wait.

It’s dark, it’s cramped, it smells like wet earth.

_But Seijuurou will never find me here_ , he thinks.

Seijuurou and his peculiarly perfect eyesight, the boy with Godlike eyes, the young scion who lives in the mansion atop a hill. Whenever they played hide-and-seek, Seijuurou appears to have familiarised himself with Tetsuya’s workings until there is little to no effort involved in locating the other. He is as good as exposed to Seijuurou, right down to his beating heart. But this time, Tetsuya is convinced he will win this round. Surely even Seijuurou won’t think of finding him here.

Tetsuya waits, holding his breath. The humanly merrymakings are broken a few seconds later with light variations of, “Seijuurou-sama, good evening,” and even, “Seijuurou-sama, enjoying yourself?” to indicate his arrival at the scene. Tetsuya knows how Seijuurou walks: The way his _geta_ clacks on the stones are different, a heavier sound than the others. The louder they murmur, Tetsuya assumes the closer Seijuurou is to the shrine. Too bad his head is twisted to the left than to the right; he could only treat himself with the dull view of the shrine door’s rotten frame instead of Seijuurou’s wandering feet.

_Clack, clack, clack._

Three steps closer to Tetsuya. His pulse jumps. Will today be just like any other day? Will Seijuurou hoist him by the arm with a smile, chiding him for thinking he could best the other at this game of theirs? Then, will they walk together down the shrine steps again, hand in hand to avoid getting separated in the crowd? Or will they share shaved ice and stay out until fireworks pierce the skies, threading the world with effervescent blooms?

So many outcomes, all too exciting. Tetsuya strains his ears to hear where Seijuurou’s going. Those footsteps are getting lost in the sound of other running children, their messy footfalls masking the sound of Seijuurou’s _geta_. As soon as it lets up, there are no more _clack clack clack,_ no more _Seijuurou-sama_ this nor _Seijuurou-sama_ that. Nothing more could be heard.

Is Seijuurou… _gone_?

Does that mean Tetsuya’s victorious for once?

The giddiness of his victory shoots through his veins, racing proud for having bested God-Eyed Seijuurou at their game. But a little, just a little, just to be sure, Tetsuya strains his ears once again to hear if there are any indications that Seijuurou’s in the area. Who knows if he’s grown craftier and decided to lie in stealth, only to ambush Tetsuya as soon as he unveils himself. Tetsuya frowns, trying to concentrate on the amassed noise of the festival surrounding him.

—only, there is nothing left to be heard.

Even with his ears pressed so close on the cobblestones where he could _hear_ every grate of noise and _feel_ every vibration from the earth, there comes absolutely no sound. Only silence invites itself into the atmosphere, daunting. Eerie. No longer owls are hooting, children are chasing, adults are selling—no longer are there worldly noises on the shrine grounds. There is nothing left to be heard, not even a single thrum of breeze.

It is as though everything has died in that split second.

Tetsuya wants to twist his head to the other side, _wants_ to see if there are still feet scraping the ground with _geta_ , but the space is too narrow to ease his action. If he wants to take a look, he has no other choice than to crawl out of the tiny space into the open air once more. Left with not many decisions, Tetsuya almost poked one foot out from underneath the offering box when he stops short.

_Clack, clack, clack._

There are footsteps.

_Clack, clack, clack._

Big, heavy footsteps.

_Clack, clack, clack._

Approaching him.

Just as soon as Tetsuya realises this, his spine grows rigid—his nape bristles—his arms are covered in goosebumps—his feet gets cold. The sharp coldness of the midnight breeze makes his brain far too lucid to interpret this as a dream. His throat scratches dry when it bobs, trying to moisten the passage of air. Somehow, for reasons Tetsuya could not muster, his breathing has grown panicked, shallow, just reduced to a series of short inhaling and exhaling as he tries not to make a single sound that could give away his location. Why, why has Tetsuya’s hand covered his mouth, he does not know.

All he knows is the footsteps drawing closer, and closer, and closer—

From the corners of Tetsuya’s eyes, just by the foot of the box, a sock-clad geta rears into view.

And around its ankle is a single hemp rope knotted by a soundless bell.

In muted fascination, Tetsuya trains his eyes on every sway of the ornament. How in the world is an instrument of shrill noise not producing the slightest of sound? Why would anyone wear a soundless bell? Is it empty inside? But what is the point of wearing a soundless bell? Isn’t a bell’s purpose is to alert someone of something? Wearing a soundless bell robs all logic of the bell’s original purpose of creation.

As though the owner of the feet could hear Tetsuya’s barrage of questions, it stopped walking.

Tetsuya’s fingernails dig into the cold stone; his toes curl like his stomach. There comes a rustle of cotton that isn’t from Tetsuya’s—it’s from the _thing_ standing there. No, no, _no,_ Tetsuya feels himself trembling when he starts seeing the hem of a white yukata kissing the earth, crumpling into layers one over another.

The _thing_ is getting ready to greet Tetsuya on its hands and knees, just to take a peek… and Tetsuya has nowhere left to escape.

 

 

**_TWELVE-YEAR-OLD SEIJUUROU_ ** _**STANDS** before a wrinkled woman burying her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, tears falling. His father’s hand is on his shoulder, like a manacle thwarting him from offering his comfort. The son of Akashi will never stoop so low as to apologise to his servant, that is the rule. The rest of the helpers stand by the sidelines with their head lowered, perhaps afraid of being scolded, perhaps apathetic to her suffering, perhaps not wanting to be part of the problem that isn’t theirs to begin with. Nobody stepped forward._  

_Only Seijuurou knows of the error of his ways._

_Even though he has destroyed someone’s world by robbing her of her grandchild, he will never be faulted._

_Even though he has caused the disappearance of Kuroko Tetsuya, Akashi Seijuurou will never be wrong._

* * *

**CODEX ANATHEMA; an innovation of sins**

**#we will kill the heretic gods**

* * *

**TETSUYA WAS, FOR LACK OF** better words, _spirited away._

The Gods had taken a fancy towards him and took him for themselves. Whichever God it was, Seijuurou doesn’t know. Before her passing, his mother had suggested that it could be the Gods of the shrine they were playing at. The shrine of the Fox Gods who watched over their area for hundreds of years. He spent a year, two, and then three to canvass the shrine grounds and the surrounding hills for any signs of Tetsuya’s return, but the Gods were cruel and left no trace of Tetsuya behind.

The fourth year, Seijuurou spent it on watching the gates of his mansion, awaiting Tetsuya's return. His father's aged disease tightened the boundaries that Seijuurou once voyaged freely, just in case the old man drops dead out of nowhere and Seijuurou isn't around to decide how he should be disposed.

April has barely set in with spring birds twittering when Seijuurou hears a commotion coming from the common grounds a few floors below his study parlor. Just outside his window, someone called out, “Somebody get Seijuurou-sama!” amidst shrieks and cries of terror. The sun just hangs right above their heads; it’s still too early in the afternoon to be making ghosts out of shadows. Finding it peculiar, Seijuurou gets up from his table and plods over to the bay windows, pressing his nose against warm glass.

Right in the heart of the courtyard, standing in a broken circle of servants who brandished brooms and rakes like swords to a beast, is a boy.

Blue hair and bluer yukata, blue like the spring skies that saw his return. The same watercolour blue from paint tubes that Seijuurou’s used to paint pictures of Tetsuya so he’ll never forget. The same blue eyes that briefly flit upwards as though he sensed Seijuurou’s gaze on him. Empty blue eyes that meet belligerent red. Empty like a corpse picked clean by the crows.

Seijuurou barely realises that he’s pressed his palm against the glass out of longing, his throat dry.

Tetsuya is twelve when he returns to the realm of the living, and Seijuurou is sixteen.

 

 

**CHAOS ERUPTS IN THE MANSION** , where the maids bring kettles of hot water to prepare for a bath, as the manservants tidied up a guest room for Tetsuya’s usage. Bedridden Akashi Masaomi could no longer rise to his feet, so he sends a servant to whisper kind words for welcoming Tetsuya into their servitude once more. They recited it to Tetsuya who looked as though he no longer understands the human words that spill from their lips.

Seijuurou oversees the process with a critical eye, ensuring that no mishap may occur under his surveillance. All the while, his hand keeps a loose grip around Tetsuya’s brittle wrist—so thin, his bones might snap under the slimmest pressure. Even as the servants bustled about with sun-warmed sheets and harvested Seijuurou’s old clothes from the attic, Tetsuya remains impassive to the world.

He watches them stoically, muted. He has no interest in them as they do with him.

The servants have him stripped of his yukata (“It’s still brand new?” one of them marvelled) and ushered him towards the porcelain tub of steaming hot water (“Careful, it’s hot,” they admonished, but Tetsuya sticks one foot into the water with his expression deadpan). He makes no protests; he allows them to bend his limbs to their will, head lolling from side to side like someone’s made a rag doll out of him over the years. They poured hot and cold water repetitively, alternating between vigorous scrubbing that left his skin flushed crimson and lathering him with soapy bubbles.

He lets them do as they pleased. He has no will of his own.

Only Seijuurou stands in the doorway, watching him.

After all that’s done, after drying Tetsuya and putting him in good clean underclothes and one of Seijuurou’s old shirt and pants and suspenders, after combing his hair and slipping his feet into wooly socks, only then he’s allowed to return to Seijuurou’s side.

Wasting no time, Seijuurou drops to his knees and peers closely at Tetsuya’s face, eye-level. Tetsuya doesn’t flinch. His eyes look straight into Seijuurou’s, perhaps even seeing through him, seeing past the mucous eyeballs and bleached white skull and into the beyond. Seijuurou runs his hands over Tetsuya; they were big, easily covering more grounds on Tetsuya’s reedy frame. They pinched and they skimmed, they lifted and they poked, they tapped and they petted. Yet, after all the inspection he’s done, his arms hang limply by his sides as he looks at Tetsuya.

Guiltlessly, Tetsuya stares back.

This is the Tetsuya who won rock-paper-scissors against him on the night of the Summer Festival, taking off into the darkness to hide from Seijuurou who lost and became the ‘ _oni_ ’ in their little game of hide-and-seek. Everything, from his pudgy cheeks to his waifish body to the atrocious poof for his hair, everything is Tetsuya.

But this Tetsuya is not _that_ Tetsuya.

"Who did this to you?" Seijuurou asks.

Tetsuya answer is to stare right through him.

What does he understand anyway? Poor, poor little Tetsuya, whose time had stopped.

 

 

**“DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR** **NAME**?”

Tetsuya doesn’t answer. As expected. All he ever does is to stare outside the windows as though this mansion caged only his body, but not his soul, never his wandering eyes. Seijuurou doesn’t know what he wanted from the scarce interaction. There were days in the past, days he stayed awake through the moonless night staging Tetsuya’s return in his head. There were so many things he wanted to say, stories he wanted to tell. Sorry. Thank you. Welcome home. I miss you. My mother is dead.

But it won’t change anything, even if he tells Tetsuya. These events were significant four years ago; now, not so much. _Sorry_. He’s said sorry many times before to his father for having existed as nothing more than a waste of breath. _Thank you._ He thanks his servants regularly, despite their reluctance in seeing their Young Master lowering his status to express gratitude. _Welcome home._ Is this place still home to Tetsuya?

_I miss you._ Tetsuya will not answer, nor does he feel the same.

_My mother is dead._ She is dead, and so is Tetsuya.

Seijuurou’s teeth sinks into his bottom lip, he pulls away from Tetsuya to look outside the window. Tetsuya has been staring fixedly at God knows what out there, letting Seijuurou’s words exit his ear as easily as it entered. All manners of interaction are useless. Words don’t get to him. Actions cease to make meanings anymore.

So Seijuurou takes him by the hand, lets Tetsuya’s clumsy fingers explore the rough skin on his palm, and takes him to the garden. At the very least, Seijuurou is no longer tormented by the sight of Tetsuya longingly staring outside the window, giving little to no attention to him.

At the very least, Seijuurou imagines Tetsuya is happier here, here where he is not there with him.

 

 

**HOW DO YOU FIX SOMEONE** who broke?

“With tender loving care,” a maid cheekily replies, only to be pinched by the matron.

“Forgive my impertinence, Young Master.” The motherly matron lowers her head, her bundle of silver hair spun into a gleaming bun. Apologetic as always, she picks up after herself. “I might be overstepping some boundaries here, but I have to say this for your own good: Tetsuya-sama has changed… he’s changed far too much. Even a doctor can’t help him. It’s been five days and he’s still not getting any better.”

That’s true, and Seijuurou isn’t going to live in denial for the rest of his life just for the sake of false comfort. The family’s physicist, Midorima-sensei, took one good look at Tetsuya the other day and shook his head, giving a prognosis no better than what they could see. Midorima-sensei’s only son, Shintarou, pulled Seijuurou out into the hallway to wedge a hastily written note into his palm. It was only later in the night after violin practice Seijuurou gets a chance to unwrap it and read the following:

_The maids mentioned he was spirited away. While I don’t have any scientific backgrounds to prove this theory of theirs, you should keep him protected from bad spirits. Lucky items for his star sign may help._

Stirring his mug of coffee, Seijuurou’s eyes wander over the unfinished stack of his father’s papers. He takes a sip and feels the lukewarm caffeinated drink trickle down his throat. “I know, you don’t need to apologise. At the very least, he still eats and drinks. For those small mercies, I’m grateful enough.”

The maid, who had been polishing the brass vases lining the mantelpiece, peers over her shoulder. “Seijuurou-sama sure cherishes Tetsuya-sama lots, huh?”

“Of course he does.” The matron curtly snaps, thin brows furrowing at her subordinate’s lack of censorship over her words. “They were the best of friends—Tecchan was supposed to be training as a butler while his grandmother, Tae, continued as the cook.” Almost guiltily, her eyes flicker over to Seijuurou’s, sees his distant expression, and pipes down. “Well, that’s the end of this conversation.”

For small mercies, yes, Seijuurou is always grateful. Relieving memories can be as painful as grasping glass shards in his palm. As soon as he finishes polishing off the lasts of his drink, she picks up the saucer and the teacup to deposit them on the trolley. She wheels it over to the exit of his study and gets ready to bend her knees, to wish him well, when he stops her with his question:

“For an Aquarius, do you know what’s today’s lucky item?”

“Lucky item?” she repeats, blank. “Do you mean auspicious trinkets like the one Shintarou-sama carries?”

He nods, receiving an eyeful of questioning stares from both the matron and the maid. They traded curious looks with one another, unsure of the expected reply. “I’m not really superstitious, Seijuurou-sama,” the younger female murmurs, ducking her head shyly, “but… I can ask around the kitchen if you want.”

Her reply brings a smile of hope to Seijuurou’s face.

“Thank you, please do that.”

 

 

**_“HE WON’T LET ME GO.”_ **

_Disappointment clouds the hopeful skies reflected in Tetsuya’s blue eyes the moment he spoke those words. Their only chance of attending the festival together, dashed with just a simple ‘no’ from Akashi’s father—Masaomi who reigns over all those who reside in his manor. Masaomi’s words were absolute._

_He tried to hide those little hands of his, carrying a bundle of clothes, but it was too late. Seijuurou could guess their contents already. Those were probably the new yukata and socks his grandmother made for him, reserved only for tonight’s festivities. New clothes do not come often for one as lowly as Tetsuya’s standing, but his grandmother always wanted him to wear his best clothes when he’s together with Seijuurou. ‘So as to not embarrass someone like him,’ she’d chant into Tetsuya’s ears every time she hands him a completed pair._

_“It’s okay then.” Tetsuya comforts him with a smile, but it’s chipping in places Seijuurou knows he can see. The downturned corner of his lips, the frown on his forehead, the downcast eyes. Everything about him hurts. It hurts. He’s hurt. “If Masaomi-sama said no, then we really shouldn’t go. We’ll get into a lot of trouble if we disobey him, right?”_

_We. It’s always ‘we’ when Tetsuya’s with him, and never ‘you’. It’s his signature way of showing solidarity with Seijuurou through hard times, sticking together like how they always should be. It’s his way of showing Seijuurou that he’s never alone, even when he thinks he is. If Seijuurou wants to get into trouble, Tetsuya will be his fallback. If Seijuurou is ever caught in acts of mischief ill-fitting his social standing, Tetsuya will always take the blame and admit it’s his fault in the first place. If Seijuurou is grounded, then so is Tetsuya._

_But enough is enough._

_Seijuurou’s had enough of Masaomi’s cruel, manipulative ways. Killing his freedom by stowing him away inside a chest, locking him from the outside world. What Seijuurou needs to see is printed on paper, and spoon-fed to him through books. The 'verdant green' sceneries of the outside world, the 'honey sweet' scent of the blooming flowers, the 'vulgar shouting' sounds of the village people, all can be found on the cold pages on his fingertips._

_Children do not grow up that way. And Seijuurou is still a child—they are both still children._

_At least for once, Seijuurou wants to be selfish with his private desires._

_Standing his ground, he utters his decision on the spot. “Tetsuya, we’ll go. We leave when the sun starts to set.”_

_His hasty verdict will earn him multiple whiplashes to his back when he returns, but for now, he thinks he reaps the reward much earlier than expected when Tetsuya wears the biggest smile he’s ever seen in all the months they had together, tiny shoulders trembling with excitement._

_“Yes, Seijuurou!”_

 

 

**THE SUN BEATS HIS** **BACK** with hot broad rays, slicking his scalp with sweat. Spring has come to stay, announcing its arrival ostentatiously with a shower of cherry blossom petals a few days ago. Even if spring is indeed in the air, it feels oddly like summer. The summer when Tetsuya had disappeared, the summer with the ringing cicadas and dry air. Spring paints an unnatural colour here with its flashy pinkness dotting the grey stone pathways, juxtaposing the eerie abandonment the shrine has to offer.

His pursuit of a lucky item brings him to the shrine, searching for an amulet of protection. The occasional shrine keeper used to show up from time to time, a broom in his hands to sweep away any clutters on the ground. If luck is on his side, he might still be lingering around. Seijuurou finds himself standing at the offertory box, the very same offertory box where scouting dogs found only one side of Tetsuya's _geta_ left.

Four years ago, the policeman looked at him in the eye and firmly repeated his findings: A _geta_ , and nothing more. Not even a whiff of the air Tetsuya last breathed, not even a strand of hair. _There is nothing strange about this area, even if I search the grounds over and over again,_ he insisted after Seijuurou fished out a couple more notes from his wallet to be given to the officer. He left Seijuurou standing there in silence, crumpling up the money in his hand.

But Seijuurou knows something was wrong.

Something was wrong with how the dogs whined and had to be cuffed by the head to get to work. They were dragged and beaten when they refused to nose into certain areas of the forest, with their ears flattened and their tails lowered. The dogs, they knew something that the humans don't. They gazed upon the shrine with terror in their eyes.

Terror is a common language all living beings spoke. Terror has no words to describe its sensation; terror has no sound to it. Terror only existed as an emotion shared on a common platform, and its existence is enough to justify the ill feeling rousing in Seijuurou's heart.

“What are you doing here?”

Someone else arrives at the shrine, someone Seijuurou doesn't know. From beyond the battered pillars chewed by age, he emerges, perpetually shrouded by shadows.

Seijuurou's eyesight is better than that; he isn't easily deceived with the dark contours falling over the man's face nor the sudden darkening of the spring skies that arrived along with him. His peculiar Godlike eyes, Tetsuya had called them, they see past the human exterior that the man adopted along with his gimmick of falsified rising and falling chest to emulate a human's breathing.

The man’s vessel is of a nondescript male in his twenties, grey hair and grey eyes, swathed in a _hanten_ that isn't much to write home about. His body creaks with an odd gait when he walks; he steps under the cover of shadows and eludes the cracks of light that pierced through heavy clouds if he could. But Seijuurou isn't a fool. As the stranger passes by, in places where he fails to notice the light illuminating the silvery threads of his hair, his own shadow betrays his existence.

There are pointed ears on his shadow, sticking out like the devil's very horns. No doubt he has a tail, too.

But why the smokes and mirrors? Such elaborate trickeries meant to deceive the ordinary, yet he's failed to take into account that Seijuurou's existence transcends normalcy. He shows up here, presumably to put Seijuurou right in his place. Humans shouldn’t cross borders they cannot see. Trespassing like this only means Seijuurou has prepared himself for what's to come, forming together a loose set of questions that required replies.

“I should ask you what you’re doing here yourself.” Seijuurou gestures to the rusted padlocks chaining the foyer doors beyond the offertory box, eyes darting back and forth from the unfamiliar stranger to the mould creeping on the wood. “Unless, of course, you are the new shrine keeper? What happened to the old Yasutaka-san? Or his wife, Ageha-san?”

The man clearly isn’t impressed with his knowledge of the shrine’s keepers. “Dead. Both of them. And their only son,” he cuts off the question about to roll from Seijuurou’s tongue, “moved out last winter.”

This is certainly news to him. The sweet old couple with their hands full of ripened apples, passing two each to little Seijuurou and Tetsuya whenever they passed by. Laughing and smiling at their antics, always having just enough time to send them both home whenever their explorations stretched past dusk. This shrine is their home, their playground, their sanctuary. The only few people who mattered are already serving as vegetation nutrients.

Taking Seijuurou’s extended silence as insolence, the stranger narrows his eyes. “You’re not here for only that, are you?”

“No.” He gradually breathes out, shaking his head. “I came here to see if they have a protective amulet of sorts. For a friend of mine,” he tacks on meaningfully, “someone who was spirited away.”

Seijuurou’s statement does little to erase the unconcerned expression right off the stranger’s face. His standoffish attitude certainly wouldn’t be a popular display at parties, though Seijuurou doubts he is the sort who would be attending official parties much.

“And what makes you think you can find one at this shrine?” he quips, absently waving a hand as though to shoo him away. “You see any around here?”

A rhetorical question. Of course there aren’t any, given how abandoned this place is. The little board where they hung _ema_ plaques of prayers is patched here and there, nails eaten by reddening rusts and crumbling apart. It used to face a little folding screen hiding away a store of fortune-telling and incense sticks, prayer amulets for education, safety, and safe childbirth. Now there’s nothing left for him to salvage except for memories, and memories only.

So why would the stranger wander around here?

He wouldn’t even be bothered with this place, unless—

“If the old keepers are not here, and you're not the new replacement, then you must certainly be the guardian of this place.” A simple reasoning, drawn from the reflection of his tail and pointed ears. Seijuurou doesn’t miss the glint in the man’s eyes, or the slight furrow in his brows. “Surely you can tell me more than that.”

Something in his shadows swims away at Seijuurou’s accusative words. The stranger peers at him a little too closely, but his blank eyes betrayed none of his thoughts. A part of him looked slightly peeved at the pinpoint accuracy of Seijuurou’s statement, but another part of him seemed to be taking crude amusement out of all this.

Crossing his arms, he smirks. “Good afternoon then, goldfish. What do you want from me?”

Because now, a Fox God is here to answer his prayers, to tell him who stole Kuroko Tetsuya.

**/end**


	2. #goldfish

**"A FOX GOD GREETING** **ME** in broad daylight," Seijuurou greets, lowering his chin in slight acknowledgement to the holy being that graced him. "To whom do I owe this honour? To you?"

The man-God clicks His tongue. He stops right where he stands, visibly bristling like a fox to a predator. "This is why I don't want to deal with goldfishes, they get uninteresting after three seconds," He retorts venomously, curling His lip. "You humans are so full of yourselves, you make me sick."

He's sneering at Seijuurou, yes He is, with every grace a God should have—but Seijuurou sees absolutely none in Him.

"You stole Tetsuya." Seijuurou tuts. "I don't see a reason to be courteous to someone who thinks lightly of a kidnapping."

The nerve of the stranger—He is dispassionate to Seijuurou's accusations, having the gall to roll His eyes like this tirade tires Him. His silence stretches without an answer in sight, as if taunting Seijuurou to hurl more weightless words at Him. Seijuurou doesn't wish to fall to His direct provocation, but he needs answers. Even if it makes Seijuurou a fool in front of the other, he takes the bait.

"You had no reason to take away another human being, even if it's for your own entertainment. Don't Gods have anything better to do?" Seijuurou's eyes narrow, fists balling. The wind grows frigid around him as though he incurred the wrath of other watchful Gods, but he doesn't care. Not when Tetsuya's returned as a lifeless husk. "What did you do to Kuroko Tetsuya?" 

_Shrug_. The humanly motion imitated by the man-God lies about His Godhood, His relation to Tetsuya, but Seijuurou discerns the light of familiarity that passed through His swampy grey eyes. He knows. He knows but he pretends to be unfamiliar with the name, dawdling about, fingers picking at the stray threads of His patched _hanten._ If He thinks feigning stupidity will make Seijuurou lose interest, He's wrong.

Seijuurou waited four years for Tetsuya, a few more doesn't matter to him.

"If you aren't going to provide me answers, then why did you appear before me?" he presses on, taking a step forward, then another step. Another step. Breaching the gap between a God and a human. "Answer me, Fox God."

Uninterested, the holy being flicks a lint Seijuurou's way. The longer He resists, the lesser the distance between them. Only when Seijuurou draws close enough until his shadow overlaps with the God's like twin swords crossing under the midday gloom, He scoffs.

"I didn't steal Tetsuya. I returned him to you."

 

 

**RETURNED HIM, IS HE SURE?**

Seijuurou checks the God's expression for any signs of deceit, lies that Fox Gods are oh so familiar with. Foxes are mischievous spirits, capable of transforming into anything and anyone they like just to cause chaos among the living. But the God wears only the vaguest air of interest, eyes lingering at the sight of cherry blossom spattered over the cobblestones like blood. 

"You talk like Tetsuya's just a book."

"At least books are more interesting than humans," He points out with a knowing smirk tugging His lips. It makes Him look malevolent than benevolent, matching the air He's put on. "I returned Tetsuya because he doesn't belong in the Underworld."

Seijuurou's gone close enough to see the flecks of acid white in his lifeless grey eyes, close enough to comprehend the danger breathing down his neck. "The Underworld? What does Tetsuya have anything to do with the Underworld? Don't you Gods live lavishly in Heaven?"

"Like how there are good and bad humans, the same goes for Gods too." He turns away from Seijuurou to stare at the procession of rainclouds that followed His parade to the shrine. Something about the fractured sunlight falling in shards over His face is disconcerting. "There's the Underworld for all you dead goldfishes, and you share it with the big bad ones that fell from Heaven."

Curiosity shouldn't be getting the best of Seijuurou, nor should he be asking more than what he knows. The Gods who have fallen from grace from committing heinous deeds. One of them has to be responsible for Tetsuya's muted state. What has happened to Tetsuya could happen to him as well. Is it a risk worth incurring? Tetsuya has returned to him and it is all Seijuurou’s ever wanted but… is that truly Tetsuya?

Seijuurou catches a glimpse of unease wading through the Fox God’s blank eyes when he draws back. ”So where did you come from?"

He looks at him as though he is a fool for asking the obvious. "Where else? The Underworld.” For a moment, He mulls over His answer as though He hadn’t intended to answer so brusquely. “I travel between the three realms frequently. Heaven, Underworld, Earth. I don’t make it a habit to stay put in one place, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The clouds have grown heavier in colour, as heavy as the voice of God. Heavy with what Seijuurou thinks is misplaced empathy, with just the slightest hint of longing.

“My name is Mayuzumi Chihiro, and I am the keeper of this shrine. Don't come back again even if you have any questions."

With the introduction of His name, He takes his leave by turning from Seijuurou to retrace His steps into the clawing trees, into the rotting wooden labyrinth of the shrine that He claimed as His. From the corners of Seijuurou's eyes he spots the dance of the Fox God's shadow—it flickers like flame, wriggling like a worm, and a shadow of a fox has loosened its grip from the Mayuzumi's feet to scamper away into the forests.

 

 

**THERE ARE MANY THINGS THAT** do not make sense. Things about the realm of the spirits that Seijuurou isn’t educated on. The Western annals spoke nothing about malignant spirits who steal children, and Plato obviously never preached about not letting younglings wander the Earth past midnight. The Japanese scrolls Seijuurou pored over had failed to bring up the matters of the otherworldly; there exists only word regarding His Majesty the Emperor’s transformation of Japan, and that is that.

If his mother still roamed the mansion with her boozy smile and her firelight hair, then Seijuurou might have had a chance to ask without risking shame. Yet his status as the heir of the family shackles him with its weight. He is Akashi Seijuurou and he should not be concerning himself with intangible matters of the dead and the living, the Gods and the humans. In his world, only economics and ethics and science underline logic. If his father was as fit as he was three years back, then he might have given Seijuurou a severe tongue-lashing for even entertaining these thoughts. Somehow, Seijuurou is glad he isn’t.

The night skies are crowded with stars until they looked like thumbtacks driven into a black board. Satin sheets pulled up to his chin, properly tucked in with his arms by his sides, Seijuurou looks up to the pale glimmer of the moon. Its translucence is so delicate like Tetsuya’s existence, as though it will just disappear without a trace when Seijuurou reopens his eyes. 

Somewhere under the same roof, Tetsuya surely must be lying in bed to stare at the cold skies outside the window. Only, he does not think of Seijuurou like Seijuurou does with him.

Exhausted, Seijuurou turns over and pulls the sheets over his head, pretending that the weight of the world no longer exists on his shoulders.

 

 

**THE WEEK IS NEARLY ENDING.** Throughout the time Tetsuya has spent with them, there are not many remarkable changes to his personality, or his physical state. They see each other at breakfast, eating through a tableau of oats and milk with a spoonful of honey. Multiple attempts at conversation proved to be hopeless; Tetsuya stares at him with the dullness of unpolished silverware, his face half-obscured by the uncertainty of what this stranger—Seijuurou—is trying to tell him. When he decided he's had enough of their interaction, Tetsuya leaps off the chair and his little feet scamper down the hallways and into the garden.

He wants to escape. Seijuurou wants him to stay.

So Seijuurou learns not to interact with Tetsuya in such a way that it will aggravate him further. He learns that keeping his distance is the best medicine and taking no interest in Tetsuya's existence will put him in place. The pain of losing Tetsuya twice, it is not something Seijuurou wants to experience anytime soon.

If this is what it takes to make Tetsuya stay with him once again, then Seijuurou will only continue to observe him from far. Anything just to make him stay and not go.

And so they spend their Saturday breakfast in silence with their tableware clinking against porcelain.

 

 

**_“TETSUYA’S SUCH A POLITE BOY,”_ ** _they’d exclaim after meeting the little servant boy darting about in the corners, bringing them all manners of things from handkerchiefs to napkins to extra cutleries and even fresh plates of pasta. Tetsuya would always, to a fault, pause at their words with a wary glint in his eyes, bow at an awkward degree to accept their kind singsong praises, before walking off to join the rest of the kitchen staff._

_Of course he is, Seijuurou thought with an edge of displeasure. On paper, Tetsuya is still Seijuurou’s servant. What his actions are reflects how his retainer trained him. Well, ‘train’ isn’t a word suitable to be used on someone like Tetsuya. They were friends. Friends would always have each other’s back. Tetsuya wants to make him proud, and he wants to be someone worthy of Tetsuya’s pride._

_These strangers joining him at the dinner table probably never had friends in the first place, only foes._

_That was why they couldn’t see it._

_Couldn’t see how precious Tetsuya was to him._

_By the time the clock strikes nine and all plates have been cleared off the table, Masaomi proclaims that it was time for them to leave, tacking on an appropriate ‘thank you’ speech at the end of his ushering. Seijuurou stands by the foyer door with his hands firmly pressed to his sides, giving each of them a bow appropriate enough for the heir of a zaibatsu to be proud of. They giggled, laughed, and petted his hair as they left, piling into their cars as they fled into the darkness of the night._

_As soon as they were truly gone from sight, Masaomi turned on his heels and walked away. As soon as they were truly gone from sight, Seijuurou stopped existing to him. As soon as they were truly gone from sight, there was no family to begin with; only strangers sharing the same name._

_There were never warm family dinners._

_They were all lies._

_Seijuurou picks himself right up after the crushing realization hitting him for the umpteenth time this month. There is no use fretting around. There is never a need to fret around anyway. He should get used to this. His feet automatically carried him through one of the hallways to his left, leading him down a maze of silver armors and paintings, eventually winding up at a door he was used to pushing._

_Every scratch, ridge, and dip of the brass doorknob, he memorized them._

_Pushing his way in, the hot and moist scent of grease hung heavy in the room full of pots and pans. The remaining servants used to freeze at the sight of someone like him in their kitchen, what with its smoke-blackened air vent and rags hanging off a laundry line outside, but now they accepted it like he was a kitchen staff just like them. There were scattered greetings of, “Good evening Seijuurou-sama,” and even a little, “Need a glass of milk, Seijuurou-sama?” as he made his way to a corner of the kitchen, reaching a rocky little table with a matching stool._

_“Tetsuya.”_

_Tetsuya, with a spoonful of porridge and dried anchovies in his hand, paused. He looked up. “Seijuurou. Is it over?”_

_A nod. Pulling out another stool from under the table, he makes himself comfortable on the rough wood, sitting across him. “Yes, it’s over.”_

_Just a simple answer. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. But Tetsuya was a quick learner. Even if Seijuurou’s face had been wiped clean of expressions, there would always be traces of evidence left for him to dissect with his observant eyes. Tetsuya doesn’t need to say a word at all. He scraped up the remainders of his porridge from the chipped bowl, making sure there were some anchovies on it, and held it up to Seijuurou’s lips._

_The symbolic gesture made Seijuurou stare._

_“What is it?”_

_“Please eat,” is Tetsuya’s simple command. Eyes heavy, lips pressed into a line. “I need help finishing my dinner."_

_Is that so? It sounds like a lie to him._

_But this was their little world, their little paradise for two. This table and these stools were tables grand enough to stage their every midnight meeting, always a spot lovely enough for him to return to. The maids busied themselves with rinsing the suds off the dishes and the rest of the servant men ambled about with their boxes of onions and potatoes, carrying it to the store room, so there were no eyes on them. Nobody cared enough to watch two children share dinner with each other._

_He could take this chance. Just a chance._

_Just one chance._

_Craning his neck, Seijuurou parts his lips as Tetsuya gently guided the spoon into his mouth._

_It was warm._

_A very, very warm dinner._

 

**MIDORIMA SHINTAROU VISITS HIM ON** Sunday when he's busied himself with the task of guarding Tetsuya from afar lest he vanishes in the garden. The familiar growls of his car, a Ford T his father's bought for him, reach Seijuurou's ears as he pores over the details of Tetsuya's shadow dipping onto the ground. Seconds later, a door slamming, some footsteps hurrying, one of the manservants finally announces to him, "Midorima Shintarou is here, Seijuurou-sama. Will you see him here or at the parlor?"

"Here is fine." Seijuurou does not look up to see him. "Please bring some tea and dessert for Shintarou."

There are movements, movements of an elaborate bowing and excessive flourishes that Seijuurou thinks unnecessary for just a servant. He must be new here because only the new ones could expend this much of energy for something as trivial as announcing someone's arrival. "Very well, sir." 

He turns on his heels to leave, only to be replaced by Shintarou soon after.

Shintarou knows not to disturb him with unnecessary movements or meaningless conversations. He enters the patio with careful footsteps like he is entering an operation theatre, his mouth sewn shut. Seijuurou doesn't even need to look to know that Shintarou is in one of his favourite clothes again; pressed short suit jacket and matching trousers. Clean and proper, as always. His breathing, however, is erratic like he's raced here just to deliver something important to Seijuurou.

"Akashi." He makes his way to where Seijuurou sits and slips an envelope of grey laid paper on the cold glass, letting him gaze at the sight of a gold leaf monogram on the front. "This just came in the mail. You might want to read it."

Seijuurou flicks a gaze at where Tetsuya stood in a crimson wave of lupine flowers, his hand outstretched, balancing a dragonfly on his fingertips. The mesmeric melancholy on his face draws him in. "Watch over him for me, Shintarou," Seijuurou commands. Picking up the envelope, he breaks the wax seal and withdraws a folded letter from its scented depths.

The green-haired man pulls a chair for himself, sitting with his legs crossed as he watches over the child. He should know better than to ask, really. "That's Kuroko Tetsuya?"

"It is," Seijuurou reaffirms, his eyes skimming down the letter to devour its contents. After a brief rereading, his fingers deftly folded the letter into its original position and slid it back into the envelope. A sigh escapes his lips before he even noticed it.

The sound alerts Shintarou, who turns in his seat to regard Seijuurou with a faint frown on his forehead. "What does it say?"

What does it say, indeed. It is as though the disease contained in the letter has infected Seijuurou, leaving him heavy-hearted, followed by the darkening of his mood. The letter wrote a lot of things in its unwritten context. The wars weaving into history's canvas, the political turmoil assaulting the government, the hunger plaguing those without a steady paying job. And even those with fortune have their fates shrouded in the mystery of what's to come.

Watching Tetsuya wade through the sea of flowers, clutching a fistful of stalks with limpid heads of lupines, not a smile on his face… sometimes, Seijuurou is envious of Tetsuya's absence to the world. His freedom from the Underworld releases him from whatever torture the Gods have unleashed upon him, albeit he is returned as a hollow human. At the very least he does not comprehend the suffering of the world he is in now. At the very least Seijuurou and the Akashi family are strong enough to protect him—hopefully until the years to come.

Before long, the envelope is crumpled in Seijuurou's steadily tightening grasp. "Mr. Gold passed away last week."

And Shintarou understood the message as clearly as that. He lowers his chin in prayer and follows up with a sigh heavier than Seijuurou's.

"Ah. The dark times of the Taisho Era will soon be upon us…"

 

 

**TWO THINGS: DISAPPEARANCE AND DEATH.**

The mystery behind Tetsuya's disappearance still plagues Seijuurou's thoughts, haunting him in his dreams. He wakes up in cold sweat, clutching his pillow like it's Tetsuya's frail back. After four years, four years of wishing and praying and hoping for Tetsuya to come back, he finally gets his wish with a cost. Now, Tetsuya does not wish to be near him, let alone allow Seijuurou to touch him as he pleases.

The death of Mr. Gold marks the starting of a falling empire. The Akashi _zaibatsu_ still fares strongly in the financial world with several backings from the Western companies; they all wanted a piece of Japan, the rising power of the East. They all wanted to pull his strings. It's all thanks to Seijuurou's existence that they're still going strong—as an heir, and an intelligent one, he has already been groomed with the professionals to take over the conglomerate. But the same couldn't be said for the Gold family who did not have an heir to begin with.

With Mr. Gold's death, many families who worked for him will starve. People will be jobless in these hard times. Not to mention, he is the vice president of the _zaibatsu_ , one of Masaomi’s loyal subordinates _._ Unless they have appointed a suitable successor to the family, unless there is no evidence of internal strife during this period of transition, Seijuurou sees no hope for them.

And there is nothing he can do for either one of them; for Tetsuya, for the late Mr. Gold and his family, and himself.

 

 

**SHINTAROU STAYED OVERNIGHT SO IT** isn't a surprise to see his face first thing in the morning at breakfast. He's brought his lucky item downstairs too; fortunately, today is a dice and it remains unobtrusive as it sits on the table beside a glass of juice. Seijuurou takes his seat at the head of the table, a mirror image of how his father was a few years back. He notes how tense Shintarou has been ever since he steps foot into the Akashi manor yesterday, starting from his fraught neck to the way he's perpetually got a sweat running down his temple.

Something is definitely wrong here.

As Tetsuya is feasting on a bowlful of porridge and salted anchovies, Seijuurou takes a sip of his coffee. "Is something bothering you, Shintarou? You've been unnaturally tense." His eyes wander over to the quiet look Shintarou gives him at the sudden analysis. "…particularly around Tetsuya."

There is nothing he could hide. The muscles around Shintarou's eye gave a little tic and he wets his lips. His fingers drum the table, off-beat. Seijuurou could see all of that. Just like how Tetsuya used to say it: Seijuurou and his Godlike eyes.

Given a few moments to make his decision, Shintarou makes a wise choice, starting from his troubled aversion of the eyes. Away from Tetsuya, away from Seijuurou. "I've been thinking about this friend of yours." He inclined his chin towards the child sitting adjacent to him, who contentedly sipped on his mug of cocoa. "Spirited away, huh." 

The morning feels too heavy for them to broach this subject. Even with the sunlight falling through the windowpanes, filtering past the blinds and the curtains, it did little to lighten the topic on Tetsuya. The maids bustling past them with their rattling trolleys of food and manservants holding their polished trays all paid no attention to them, but Seijuurou knows they'll gossip as soon as the doors are closed in the kitchen.

"I did some reading after you told me about it, so I thought I should tell you," Shintarou continues objectively, lacing his fingers together on the table. His porridge has gone cold, and so has Seijuurou's. "Keep in mind that what I'm about to tell you isn't proven scientifically, you know."

Seijuurou nods. "Of course. Tell me what you learned."

"Children are often the easiest to be spirited away because of their souls, you see. Pure, untainted souls. The mischievous spirits like that sort of thing." Shintarou picks off his glasses and withdraws a piece of cloth from his breast pocket, cleaning the lens meticulously. "There is a reason why parents are very reluctant in letting their children to wander around at night, especially unsupervised. Like in your case, you played hide and seek during a festival night. There is no better chance than what you presented." 

That much, Seijuurou figured it out by himself. It was his fault that Tetsuya went missing, his grandmother was crying, and everything that followed afterwards. He spent four years apologizing to the world and begging the Earth to return him. That much, yes, Seijuurou knows. Picking up his cutlery, he takes a mouthful of tepid porridge and swallows. It grates down his throat, down his oesophagus, into his stomach.

Shintarou might have picked up in the change of expression, but he resolutely carries on. "There are so many uncertain factors affecting Kuroko to what he has become today. For one, we don’t know who or what took him, and we don't know what happened to him during those four years of absence."

Of course. Shintarou might not know, but Seijuurou knows. He throws his gaze outside the window where butterflies take flight over the bed of begonias planted by a water well, lowering his spoon. "Shortly after Tetsuya came back, I returned to the shrine where I lost him. I wasn't expecting to find anything, but something had expected my arrival. I don't know who took him, but I know where he returned from."

His vague answer has Shintarou all frowns, not even the barest trace of light entering his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It means that I finally have a clue, after all these years." His scarlet eyes, half-lidded with ruddy eyelashes, lingers over a pale blue mop of hair. A slow smile begins to take shape, quirking the corner of his lips. "Tetsuya returned from the Underworld, and I'll start by finding who took him first."

The sudden jolt crossing Shintarou's eyes could not be mistaken as anything else other than trepidation.

 

 

**HE MUST BE CRAZY FOR** coming back here again and again, fearless of what he's tempering with. Why must he meddle with the affairs of the Gods, Heaven and Underworld? All for Tetsuya?

_But Tetsuya doesn't even know who you are or cares about what you do,_ another part of his conscience reasons. _Tetsuya won't appreciate your suffering, Tetsuya won't understand why you are doing this for him. Why are you going so far for him?_

Why indeed. Seijuurou dashes up two more steps on the crumbled stairway to the shrine, swatting off the mosquitoes that have come to feast on his blood. His shirt is soaked thoroughly and his hair is all slicked back, preventing any offending bangs from getting into his eyes. All he wants to do is to reach the shrine with its rotting wood and its moulding offertory box, just to meet the Fox God again.

By right, he could have just laid back in his manor to while away his Sunday, watching over the strange antics of absentminded Tetsuya and his adventures in the fenced garden of the Akashi manor. Yet he reaches the top step with a satisfied exhale, even with his hands pressed on his knees and doubling over to steady his breathing.

The cherry blossoms blooming vigorously shed its petals all over the cobblestones that have long been smoothened by the footsteps of its past visitors. Seijuurou inhales softly, taking a lungful of the air ripened by spring. Fragrant notes of moist soil and fruitful trees waft from beyond the procession of pink branches. The romantic tranquility of this shrine and its empty stone lanterns is marred only by the presence of one thing:

The Fox God who stands in the middle of the grounds, swaddled in bleak black hakama.

"I knew you'd come back, goldfish." His voice rings steady and clear, resonating throughout the courtyard and silencing every living being in its wake. There is finality present in His speech, and its commandeering nature makes Seijuurou stop to listen. "Humans can never be content with whatever they have, can they?"

"Only if you returned him in the right condition, Mayuzumi-sama," Seijuurou replies, aptly tacking on a polite form of address to acknowledge Mayuzumi's Godhood. "But you returned Tetsuya to me, broken and not even possessing any bit of his previous personality. I want to know what happened."

A sneer crosses Mayuzumi's face, cocking His brow and curling His smile into something else less friendly. He crosses His arms, every bit the haughty God He is. "First you demand that you want to know what happened to Tetsuya. Next you'll ask to return Tetsuya to what he was before. Can't you just be grateful that he's returned? Isn't that what you yearned for?"

Taking a step forward, Seijuurou gradually closes in the distance. The closer he comes, the more he is acutely aware of how the air whips up into a spell too cold for spring, how the breeze sweeps the petals over his feet and kisses them red, and how Mayuzumi's shadow swayed under the sunlight as a fox scurrying all around Him. The mark of His Godhood is evident enough to be perceived by his eyes alone.

"The Gods created humans as curious creatures," Seijuurou answers stiffly, ruffling his hair to free it from the petals dancing all about him. "So unless my curiosity is satisfied, I'll keep coming back here to get my answers from you."

Mayuzumi appears unimpressed at his rebuttal, His dull eyes trained on Seijuurou's face. "And if I choose not to tell you? What will you do, goldfish?" 

All sorts of things. All. Sorts. Of. _Things_.

Perhaps Mayuzumi is underestimating him because that is how Gods are—always looking down on their lesser creations, the humans, and pulling their strings as puppet entertainment. Even if Mayuzumi refuses to provide answers to his questions, Seijuurou will head to one shrine and another and another and _another_ just to ask about Tetsuya and his connection to the Underworld. Surely there will be an affable God who will see eye-to-eye with his plight, a God who might answer a prayer or two.

Four years. Four years without Tetsuya, and now that Tetsuya is back, he will spend the next few years on restoring him. No matter what it takes.

Seijuurou observes the solitude mirrored in Mayuzumi's eyes and reflects on their first meeting with one another. How Mayuzumi prudently rephrase his sentence as 'returning Tetsuya' to him as though He has done him service. How His voice contained traces of, daresay, fondness towards Tetsuya—or even pity. Despite his indifference towards humans, Tetsuya must have meant something to him, no matter how little he measures up to.

As though He senses the train of thought Seijuurou is penning on, Mayuzumi readjusts the hem of his hakama and avoids looking at him. His voice is low when He finds it in Himself to speak again, but Seijuurou's ears are sharp enough to catch the names of the perpetrators behind Tetsuya's disappearance.

"There are two Gods you will want to kill: Kise Ryōta, and Akashi Seijuurou."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **3:** _Him, not children. Which is an interesting choice of words, if Seijuurou were to dissect the meaning behind it. He puts down his knife and trains his eyes on the particular figure suddenly made important before him. “You know Tetsuya?”_
> 
> _Daylight cards through his limp sienna spikes, accenting the bold brown of his tousled hair. His mirthful eyes and candid smile are too bright for a world doomed by war._
> 
> _“Yeah, we were childhood friends. My name’s Ogiwara Shigehiro, Seijuurou-sama.”_

**Author's Note:**

>  **#2:** _Shintarou might have picked up in the change of expression, but he resolutely carries on. "There are so many uncertain factors affecting Kuroko to what he has become today. For one, we don’t know who or what took him, and we don't know what happened to him during those four years of absence."_
> 
> Each chapter is going to range about 4-5k words, and I've written until approximately chapter 5 ^^;; Since I've been stuck in uni hell for a long while now and I'll be graduating by February 2016, I hope I'll have more time to write after that. :'D Again, thank you Tami (!!!) for helping me survive my fifth semester! I would've been dead without your help...  
> 
> 
>   
>   
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed some parts of this fic and if you're celebrating Christmas, I hope you'll have a wonderful Christmas ahead of you! *u* Go all out with celebrations!


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